On the Next Episode of I'm So UT, we meet an MC hungry to show the world That!
Uh!
My punchlines, One Punch Man I win em all
Been hurting niggas feelings, since stealing girlfriends in malls
Holes in her draws, this game is easy access
Ya'll Drizzy when he found out he was RiRis Practice!
Flexing for the masses, But we know most fake
I learned how to weed through the bullshit in my wrestling phase
Stuck in a daze
Scribbling in Notebooks, f*cking up the way
That my 9-5 Manager wants the cereal to be faced
This games satirical, Like a Trump funded race
I'lll make you upchuck the tapes, that was forced down your face
Just Clearing you
For something with a palatable taste
Fresh cut from the mind of a rapper with no Place!
How many mics before we have to say "back away before we set fire to this place?"
How many mics before we have to say "back away from these wack songs and fakes?"
How many mics before we have to say "back away before we set fire to this place??"
An arsonist
Let the fire water drip, off the lips
Of bitch made rappers needing sales so now they starting shit
Begging for a pardon from the pit that they residing in
I tell em that I have to Clear the game Like Morgan when the zombies hit
Make em beg and plead, then hit me with an argument
Bout how their music is needed to compliment other artists shit
I tell em that I get it
But their points aren't really hitting
Walk away and hit the spliff ignite the gas with what I sparked it with
Views from the explosion, a slow mo walk
I just sit in the whip and don't peel off
I cut the motor on and write verses to the sirens of first responding fireman
Revenge for getting let off, for trynna murder hip-hop
I did take his wristwatch, Like Marv jacking jackets
Don't care if the beats hot you aint spitting? I'm smacking
A trash actor, with the tapes that he keep trynna pass me
I'm all for progression, but these cats aint even rapping
Sounding like an old cat at the spades table
Except I can't play spades, But I call em how I see em
And the shit that I been hearing feel uninspired and rushed
Like the homie mixing, said "F*ck it, I'm done!" and left the reverb stuck!
How many mics before we have to say "back away before we set fire to this place?"
How many mics before we have to say "back away from these wack songs and fakes?"
How many mics before we have to say "back away before we set fire to this place?"
Pardon me the obscenities, this genre got me pissed
Stressing at the crib
Hair crazy with a notebook and cig
Plotting on the kids
No white van and candy, but with dope beats and lyrics for actual understanding
Niggas aint worried bout timeless music, man they need the cash
That's why you hear "yeah, I'm a writer." instead of "I rap"
Because you're shunned before you even get to hashtags
And laughed at for carrying work in your high school backpack
You think you got it bad?
There's still someone from your hometown that's trynna rap
Whoever made that meme mad cuz they wack
Carrying out the dream of bringing hip-hop back
Or being a part of the movement, where the hip-hop at?
Mulu - The Next Episode Lyrics
Mulu - The Next Episode Lyrics
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We currently do not have these lyrics.
If you would like to submit them, please use the form below.
On the Next Episode of I'm So UT, we meet an MC hungry to show the world That!
Uh!
My punchlines, One Punch Man I win em all
Been hurting niggas feelings, since stealing girlfriends in malls
Holes in her draws, this game is easy access
Ya'll Drizzy when he found out he was RiRis Practice!
Flexing for the masses, But we know most fake
I learned how to weed through the bullshit in my wrestling phase
Stuck in a daze
Scribbling in Notebooks, f*cking up the way
That my 9-5 Manager wants the cereal to be faced
This games satirical, Like a Trump funded race
I'lll make you upchuck the tapes, that was forced down your face
Just Clearing you
For something with a palatable taste
Fresh cut from the mind of a rapper with no Place!
How many mics before we have to say "back away before we set fire to this place?"
How many mics before we have to say "back away from these wack songs and fakes?"
How many mics before we have to say "back away before we set fire to this place??"
An arsonist
Let the fire water drip, off the lips
Of bitch made rappers needing sales so now they starting shit
Begging for a pardon from the pit that they residing in
I tell em that I have to Clear the game Like Morgan when the zombies hit
Make em beg and plead, then hit me with an argument
Bout how their music is needed to compliment other artists shit
I tell em that I get it
But their points aren't really hitting
Walk away and hit the spliff ignite the gas with what I sparked it with
Views from the explosion, a slow mo walk
I just sit in the whip and don't peel off
I cut the motor on and write verses to the sirens of first responding fireman
Revenge for getting let off, for trynna murder hip-hop
I did take his wristwatch, Like Marv jacking jackets
Don't care if the beats hot you aint spitting? I'm smacking
A trash actor, with the tapes that he keep trynna pass me
I'm all for progression, but these cats aint even rapping
Sounding like an old cat at the spades table
Except I can't play spades, But I call em how I see em
And the shit that I been hearing feel uninspired and rushed
Like the homie mixing, said "F*ck it, I'm done!" and left the reverb stuck!
How many mics before we have to say "back away before we set fire to this place?"
How many mics before we have to say "back away from these wack songs and fakes?"
How many mics before we have to say "back away before we set fire to this place?"
Pardon me the obscenities, this genre got me pissed
Stressing at the crib
Hair crazy with a notebook and cig
Plotting on the kids
No white van and candy, but with dope beats and lyrics for actual understanding
Niggas aint worried bout timeless music, man they need the cash
That's why you hear "yeah, I'm a writer." instead of "I rap"
Because you're shunned before you even get to hashtags
And laughed at for carrying work in your high school backpack
You think you got it bad?
There's still someone from your hometown that's trynna rap
Whoever made that meme mad cuz they wack
Carrying out the dream of bringing hip-hop back
Or being a part of the movement, where the hip-hop at?
Uh!
My punchlines, One Punch Man I win em all
Been hurting niggas feelings, since stealing girlfriends in malls
Holes in her draws, this game is easy access
Ya'll Drizzy when he found out he was RiRis Practice!
Flexing for the masses, But we know most fake
I learned how to weed through the bullshit in my wrestling phase
Stuck in a daze
Scribbling in Notebooks, f*cking up the way
That my 9-5 Manager wants the cereal to be faced
This games satirical, Like a Trump funded race
I'lll make you upchuck the tapes, that was forced down your face
Just Clearing you
For something with a palatable taste
Fresh cut from the mind of a rapper with no Place!
How many mics before we have to say "back away before we set fire to this place?"
How many mics before we have to say "back away from these wack songs and fakes?"
How many mics before we have to say "back away before we set fire to this place??"
An arsonist
Let the fire water drip, off the lips
Of bitch made rappers needing sales so now they starting shit
Begging for a pardon from the pit that they residing in
I tell em that I have to Clear the game Like Morgan when the zombies hit
Make em beg and plead, then hit me with an argument
Bout how their music is needed to compliment other artists shit
I tell em that I get it
But their points aren't really hitting
Walk away and hit the spliff ignite the gas with what I sparked it with
Views from the explosion, a slow mo walk
I just sit in the whip and don't peel off
I cut the motor on and write verses to the sirens of first responding fireman
Revenge for getting let off, for trynna murder hip-hop
I did take his wristwatch, Like Marv jacking jackets
Don't care if the beats hot you aint spitting? I'm smacking
A trash actor, with the tapes that he keep trynna pass me
I'm all for progression, but these cats aint even rapping
Sounding like an old cat at the spades table
Except I can't play spades, But I call em how I see em
And the shit that I been hearing feel uninspired and rushed
Like the homie mixing, said "F*ck it, I'm done!" and left the reverb stuck!
How many mics before we have to say "back away before we set fire to this place?"
How many mics before we have to say "back away from these wack songs and fakes?"
How many mics before we have to say "back away before we set fire to this place?"
Pardon me the obscenities, this genre got me pissed
Stressing at the crib
Hair crazy with a notebook and cig
Plotting on the kids
No white van and candy, but with dope beats and lyrics for actual understanding
Niggas aint worried bout timeless music, man they need the cash
That's why you hear "yeah, I'm a writer." instead of "I rap"
Because you're shunned before you even get to hashtags
And laughed at for carrying work in your high school backpack
You think you got it bad?
There's still someone from your hometown that's trynna rap
Whoever made that meme mad cuz they wack
Carrying out the dream of bringing hip-hop back
Or being a part of the movement, where the hip-hop at?
Writer: Christian Holt
Copyright: Lyrics © O/B/O DistroKid
Copyright: Lyrics © O/B/O DistroKid